


In Memoriam

by lost_spook



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: The Doctor pays a surprise visit to Martha Jones.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts).



> Written for the genremixer prompt "Twelve &/ Martha - storytelling" in an LJ meme.

Martha had just finally got around to doing some serious tidying on her return from her latest mission, when, mid-way through attempting to sort the laundry, the TARDIS materialised in the centre of the living room, scattering articles of clothing everywhere.

“Dr Jones,” said an unfamiliar man, stepping out of it. He was wearing sunglasses, which he removed and then blinked round at her living room. “Have I interrupted a jumble sale?”

Unfamiliar and yet familiar, Martha amended to herself. It wasn’t hard to recognise the Doctor, no matter how much he changed. She was pretty sure she’d have known him even if it weren’t for the whopping clue of his very evident blue police box of a Time and Space machine occupying the point where the ironing board had been only a few seconds ago. She grinned and dropped the pillow case she’d been folding and hugged him.

“Doctor. It’s good to see you.”

He froze momentarily and then managed a quick and awkward pat on her back before she released him. “Have you shrunk or have I? Or is it this room? This room has definitely shrunk.”

“You haven’t seen this room before,” she said. “At least, not from my point in the timeline. And I definitely haven’t shrunk, so if anybody has, it’s you.”

“Ah.” He surveyed the room carefully. “It’s a, well, it’s a room. Very rectangular. Regular. If you like that kind of thing.”

Martha shook her head in amusement. “In between UNIT missions, I quite like regular and rectangular, yes. Come on, Doctor, what are you doing here? You don’t make social calls.”

“Sometimes I do,” he said. “Once every millennia or so.”

“What is it? Aliens hiding in my kitchen cupboards?”

He shook his head. “No, not that. I mean, unless you think there are. Do you want me to check?”

“I think the odds are low,” said Martha, and then reflected on the life of a UNIT employee. “Well, enough for you not to need to look right now anyway. Just tell me, Doctor.”

He glanced across at her and gave a sudden, brief smile and beckoned her nearer. “Not here,” he said. “Let me take you out somewhere and show you.”

 

Of course, with the Doctor, going out meant popping into the TARDIS for a quick trip to another planet, an offer Martha should firmly have refused, but couldn’t quite. And so far, it had been surprisingly peaceful. They were in a place called Kellstyre on the planet Jaan, somewhere in her future. It was a warm evening and they were sitting under a canopy outside the nearby town along with a band of the locals, the suns beginning to set.

“This has been great,” said Martha, “but I’d like to know why.”

The Doctor gestured out at the silhouette of the city before them as dusk advanced. “It’s the annual Day of Stories, or at least, that’s how it’s usually translated, but the Kellstyri word implies more than that – a bit of inspiration, a side-order of keeping faith. You know how languages are. Complicated. Like most sentient beings, really.”

“That’s very nice,” said Martha, “and I’ve really enjoyed it all. But there must be a reason. I know you better than that.”

The Doctor leant back in the chair next to her. “Once upon a time, the people of Kellstyre were going through a particularly dark period. Tyrannical rulers, famine, alien invaders, torrential rains of haddock – one thing after another, you know how it is. They fought and they hid and they survived, and all the while, they told themselves stories. One in particular, a stranger had left with them – the inspiration for the movement if you like. About one person who’d spent a long, gruelling year doing exactly that – inspiring hope, keeping the faith – telling stories. Saving the world.”

“I see.” Martha looked around her at the other beings under the canopy with them: mostly green-blue, tall reptilian aliens, although there were a few with a more purplish tinge to their scales. They were marking the occasion, exchanging stories. It wasn’t about her; it wasn’t anything ridiculously over the top, or necessarily even entirely deliberate and it felt _right_. She blinked back brief tears and squeezed his arm in acknowledgement and approval.

The Doctor squinted outwards at the horizon. “It seemed the thing to do at the time, that’s all,” he murmured. “Some things have to be forgotten, but they can still be remembered, every now and then, by some people, somewhere, somewhen.”

He was talking about something else as well, she could tell. She gave him a smile. “Not getting maudlin on me, are you?”

“Never,” said the Doctor, putting on an unconvincing scowl. “Doesn’t go with these eyebrows.”


End file.
